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POEMS 



BY 



FREDERICK J. ZAHNER. 



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]Sre\?v York : 
R. ^^. KmSTCKriEY, Publisher, 

246 East 25th Street 

18S9 



-Z. 4- 



COPYRIGHT 1889, 
BY 

FREDERICK J. ZAHNER. 



PREFACE. 



Most of the Poems in this volume are descriptive of 
scenes connected with the home life of the Author, in 
the village of Stanwich, Fairfield County, Conn., where 
were passed the happiest days of his childhood. 

Stanwich, Conn., Dec, 1889. 

The Author. 



PKOEM. 

PROEM. 

Fro7n other Poems. 

'Tis pleasant far, in after years, 

When manhood's sterner age appears, 
To revert us back unto the time 

When, in our souls, was birth divine — 
A God, by Nature's simplest scenes, 

A Heaven, from its various dreams. 
Its melancholy visions cast ; 

Were but life shadow's brief, like clouds past 
A Summer's sun, and anon paced. 

Which short of span, but again replaced 
Its former resplendent beauty more 

In pleasanter tints than aye before. 
Thus mixtures of that tarnished urn, 

Moods again far gayer scenes return ; 
The sweets of childhood's pictured cheer, 

And memories blest as cherished here. 



CONTENTS. 



To a Dandelion .... 

To the Memory of William Cullen Bryant 

To a Friend, on an Early Wild Flower 

To the Cuckoo .... 

Autumn of Life. Dedicated to A. L, 

To a Common Field Flower . 

The Heritage .... 

A Stanwich Church-yard Reverie 

To Mother. A Memory 

Epistle to a Critic, J. R. of England 

Flowers. Written in Spring 

Remembered Love, to . — To a 

To a Daisy .... 



Blue Bird 



Shattered Friendship. Dedicated to 

A Lament on the Death of S. Z. 

The Religion of Robert Burns 

A Stanwich Walk Reverie 

Lines. On Discussion of Gladston. — Love's Simile 

A Summer Afternoon's Reverie .... 

Lines. On a Stream with Buttercups and Daisies , 

Autumnal Ode. — Passing Childhood 

[V] 



Page 

7 

lO 

II 

12 

IS 

16 

17 

18 

19 

21 

22 

25 
26 
27 
29 
30 
31 
32 

35 
36 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



s Pride 



Page 

A Summer Night's Musing 37 

Resignation. — Inscription for Greenwich, Conn., 

Fountain 38 

A Brook Reverie. — Trials 

Dead is the Reign of Summer 

Autumnal Dirge 

Autumnal Days . 

To Robert Burns . 

A Home Picture 

To John Greenleaf Whittier 

Gertie Gray 

Heavenly Consolation 

A Mother's Spinning Reverie 

Stanwich Friends Eulogy 

To an Early Wayside Flower 

A Reverie under the Elm 

A Winter's Day Reverie 

To a Disconsolate One . 



40 

41 

42 

43 
44 
45 
51 
53 
54 
55 
57 
59 
60 
68 
70 



FREEDOM'S ECHOES. 



Lines To David Banks 71 

Lines. (To the Spirit of Israel Putnam.) . . 73 

The Battle of Lexington 75 

Lines. (The Patriots of Ridgefield, Conn.) . 78 

To a Banqueted Federal Soldier . . . .79 



POEMS 



TO A DANDELION. 

Found pressed in an Albufn. 

Dear flower of a common lot, 

That viest not in beauty most pleasing unto men ; 

How joyed when first I found thee out ; 

For I, truant of Nature's ways till then, 

Have ceased to reason, or to doubt ; 

But thou, as now, had'st ever been 

Unsparing in thy largeness how to bring about 

The erring soul unto its former piety again. 

To look at thee, as now unfolds in part, 

The nobler being of some ruined mind. 

Of virtues, staked most dearly at the heart, 

When love as yet the blessing claimed of all mankind, 

The wisdom that unto the humblest may impart 

What they within life's checkered vale might find, 

To take each ill, in faith as best thou art. 

That therein yet are dearest joys confined. 



8 TO A DANDELOIN. 

And thou that goest to make up the sum of life's realities 
The meekness that is heir of all the good and wise, 
The dearness, tendered with those humbler charities, 
That give unto the lowliest some glimpse of Paradise. 
From scenes and grandeured dreams, that speak our 

many vanities ; 
Of pomps and powers, we now most dearly prize 
Thou givest back, as meet, far dearer pageantries, 
Viewed 'mid the innocence of childhood's joyous skies. 

Most dear as yet to me is the summer plot. 
Where oft in deep seclusion thee I found ; 
Lavished of gold thy broidered frill begot 
Of richer store and mete, than aye abound 
'Mid depth of primeval isle, where the adventurer's lot 
Hast torn him from the haunts of all affection's sound ; 
Or amid the cloistered aisle, or miser's horded spot. 
And of a dearer hue, than viewed all Italy's vales 
around. 

What shadows, that within the lake were cast. 

Of woods and fields and sky, shown most serenely blue, 

But there left thee imaged as they passed, 

In form the like of friends, which in earlier years I 

knew. 
That here of earth no dearer merit asked, 
Than that I to childish piety in part yet true 
Might through all a kind and meek persuasion tasked, 
Still learn to turn my wandering eyes to joys of Heaven 

anew. 



TO A DANDELION. 9 

How marked thy yellow circles, tinging on the green, 
While Spring as yet did haunt the summer woodlands 

through, 
And thou, first plight of May, did'st fitly seem, 
Where wild the ravished bee, it's oft' allotted pittance 

drew ; 
Or the lone robin, that atilt in the sun was seen, 
Sang here it's sacred melody anew. 

While children that from school elate, did worthy deem 
To pluck thee as the Eldorado, which alone their child- 
hood knew. 

'Twas here, as yet unprodigaled of love, 

My first and earliest visits thee I payed. 

And thou did'st seem some message from above 

In nature's book most artlessly arrayed, 

Whils't I, gay paramour, o'erjoyed as yet, did rove 

Amid the truant haunts, of thy sequestered shade. 

And culled thy kindred sweets, that pictured field and 

grove. 
As trophies, which most dear Heaven aye to me hath 

made : 

And though I've changed since then, 'mid wealth and 

power. 
Yet deep within my heart, anon, and evermore. 
My thoughts go back to thee, most dear and common 

flower. 
That I have known to hedge beside mine humbler door ; 



10 TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

For thou had'st taught me how, amid life's triumphant 

hour, 
To deem as best the childish innocence of 5^ore, 
When thou, to me, did'st seem in wealth a richer dower 
Than that which all the earth since then has held for 

me in store. 



TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM CULLEN 
BRYANT. 

Those whom he loved, and held in dear regard, 
They above all others did know him best at heart. 
Though to the world he may have seemed passive, cold* 
As snowdrifts round some rural cottage fold. 
Yet goes to keep all Winter's cheer within — 
So did his heart in reveries, though dim 
Unto these chosen few, some cherished vision bring 
A scene, or thought, of their life's vanished Spring 
That filled the weary hours, when grown to sterner 

cares, 
With memories most sweet, of joys that once were theirs, 
And gave a balm unto their languished souls. 
As fresh and sweet, as that which oft' unfolds 
The like of flowers, amid a sickened room 
Of potted roses, wild and rich perfume. 

* James Russell Lowell's Satire — A Fable for Critics. 



TO A FEIEND. 11 

TO A FRIEND. 

On an Early Wild Flower. 

Wayfaring man of idling thought, 

The flower that greets thine humble way, 

Perchance complained, for thee hath taught 
A worthier lesson of its day. 

How oft 'tis doomed by sullen tempest wrest 
And born to meet the scorn of human kind ; 

Beneath their truant footsteps thoughtless pressed 
Unnoticed, unlamented, or repined. 

Unworthy deemed with others for the garland's bright 
array. 
Void of that pleasant scent whereof others have their 
praise. 
Unmerited, untold, by poet's humbler lay, 

Unmarked in its departing from our genial vernal 
days. 

Yet serene and stately doth unfold 

Its beauties, 'mid the radiant haunts of men, 

With Nature's gayer flower's to hold 
A pleasant thought of reverie for them. 

In simple merits of affection bends 

Its modest form to catch, at early morn. 

Each tendered blessing sweet, which Heaven desoends 
The dewy lawn, and scented heathers 'mong. 



12 TO THE CUCKOO. 

And contented thus of humbler garb arrayed 
Bear all the ruthless ills, its being rife, 

Till crushed beneath its common lot and fate. 
Pass calm, sequestered, through the Vale of Life. 



TO THE CUCKOO. 

Mild reviver of the pure and fair 

Whose presence Summer's sweetest memories bring, 

Thee do I hail, blithe messenger, aware 

No sweeter voice e'er wakes the early haunts of Spring. 

What joy thou speakest of Summer bowers, 

And climes where Winter's season thou had'st never 

known. 
Of happy days, and brighter hours ; 
Spent oft in vernal regions of our own. 

And now, sweet bird, twice welcome in thy year 
Again art visitant of thine annual time ; 
Prophetic in thy mystic presence here 
Of serenest bliss, that do beget of the season's golden 
prime. 

What sweets the woods, or common green, resume 
Of melody, or odorous blooms combined ; 
There thou art wont thy rural seat assume 
And lingering plight thy stay assurate kind. 



AUTUMN OF LIFE. 13 

The school-boy, wandering home elate, 
Doth mark what paths the primrose strew, 
There, idling pleased to imitate 
Thy vocal joys of Spring anew. 

Seemed harbinger thou art, whose course 
Does meet recall the pageant scenes of flowers ; 
The childhood dreams, whose very loss 
Methinks, as yet, do form the richest heritage of 
ours. 

And yet, O amorous bird ! ere long, and we 

Shall greet thy presence here no more, 

But blessed in part, we'll revert to thee 

As dreams best meet, in all of Summer's store. 



AUTUMN OF LIFE. 

Dedicated to A, L. 

Now, Summer being grown to her pale, was seen to 

wane on tinted leaf ; 
Her hour-glass, being run to its full, in western fades. 
And all things approached to the nearness of harvest 
Colored with rainbow hues, which die most, when 

brightest they sparkle ; 
Scentings of the sweetest perfume wafted, as incense o'er 

the fulness of death, 



14 AUTUMN OF LIFE. 

Preparing the vaulted Heaven for the chill, and the 

shroud : 
And zephyr harps, strung to their melancholy odes, 
Breathing soft of the fate to life and the bloom, 
Tolling knells to men's souls, of the flight of their time, 
The reckoning of their deeds, for the full of the garner. 
The hopes of to-day, to meet dawns of the morrow ; 
The records of the past to those of the future. 
With ardent mercy from Heaven and God. 
Thus pondered, and thought one, matured of his day, 
Crowned with both wisdom, and hoariness of time ; 
The prime of his life having run to its waste 
Like a mighty oak, which for ages has stood 
Time's sullen tempests unconquered, alone, 
Viewing the fall of its kind to decay. 
Those of its vigor, and youth swept away. 
Oblivious of earth, of time unchronicled or forgot, 
At last finds its time numbered to ebb. 
Although by many praised for the good of its day, 
Its life being spoken of as having been fruitful. 
And bettered its surroundings for its having had birth, 
Yet see'th repining and feebleness succumb, it 
Knoweth that its days are few, and, at their length, 
That the woodman, at his next annual gleaning, 
Shall decree it to moulder with its kindred below ; 
Thus he, twain to that oak's might, shall fall, 
Yet not without hope or a trust ; 
Unmarked, though not unsorrowed by earth, 
To his kin and kind in the dust. 



TO A COMMON FIELD FLOWER. 15 

TO A COMMON FIELD FLOWER. 

On cutting one down July Zth, 1883. 

Alas, 'tis done ! o'ermown and faded, 

I rue the hand that stayed me not in time ; 

Dank flower, thou of rural birth, 
Wast doomed before thy prime. 

No brighter thought aye gave the ray, 
Of morning's blush against thy cheek ; 

Nor sweeter one the linnet's lay. 

Than that which now thine image speaks. 

Thy life was one of grace to gladden 

Teach oft the soul of truant love. 
That blossoming 'side the humblest door 

*Twas missioned from above. 

So early had'st thou radiant sprung 

The first born of thy kind, 
And modestly with statelier ones 

Thy fainter blooms combined. 

Well prided of thy homely beauty. 

At sultry Summer's milder hours ; 
Content of lot, and thus to share 

The joy of Nature's gayer flowers. 



16 THE HERITAGE. 

Though numbered least among the fairest, 
And deemed the meekest of them all, 

Yet beauty often, in its rarest, 

Is viewed like thine beneath the pall. 

And cottager hath never known 

The merit of thy days, 
And poet never wiser learned 

In tribute of thy praise. 

Yet thou now withered, all discolored, 
To me a lesson sweet had'st taught. 

That the humblest life is worth the living 
Where best each given mission, as Heaven's 
gift, is wrought. 



THE HERITAGE. 

Man is born 

But few of days ; 

He fulfilleth his mission 

Then passeth away ; 

While others arise. 

As heirs to his deeds, 

Of good or evil. 



A STANWICH OHURCHYARD REVERIE. 17 



A STANWICH CHURCHYARD REVERIE. 

There rests a solemn quietness here. 

Among this plotted ground of marble slabs, 

Bearing their different inscriptions ; 

Telling their own tales of love and sorrow, 

The toils and various ambitions, 

Of these once busied beings of God. 

Where all is ceased, 'neath the turfted mounds. 

Save for the constant hum of the busy honey gatherers 

Flying here and there 'mong the breeze blown 

Buttercups, clover-blossoms, and daisies. 

Which scent the air with their sweet perfume ; 

Or, for the distant sound of a church bell 

Ringing out its melodious notes at eve. 

Which are borne by the sighing breezes afar^ 

Or, for the rich lay of a lark, from the meadow below, 

Pluming its wings for an upward flight. 

Disturbed by the stroke of the swarthy farmer 

Reaping the golden grain, ripe for the harvest. 

While around are dotted little white cottages, 

Whose gabled roofs and oaken doors. 

And dove-cots 'neath the window side 

From which issues a passion's cooing, 

Makes a picture sweet for rustic's joy. 

While children with their satchels on their arms 

iVho from the school returning, 

jather flowers, from the roadway green ; 



18 TO MOTHER. 

Entwining wreaths to deck each others brows, 

While their rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, 

And shouts and laughter mingle twain. 

To echoes o'er the wooded hill : 

Where the farm boy aye cheerful is calling away 

To the cattle from over the brow, 

And milk-maids are singing strains sweet of love, 

Seated 'neath the elm's cool shade ; 

Where now, contented and peaceful, the cattle regard 

them, 
With eyes meek and tender, for caresses given ; 
Then seek the high calamus' cooling retreat, 
Where the dews of the twilight have fallen. 
Ah ! I ponder, and muse, as I turn me away, 
How sweet is the death that the poet speaks of, 
And how sweeter by far, to sleep *mong the scenes that 

we love. 



TO MOTHER. 

A Memory. 

Like a sweet midsummer's dream. 

Haunting spell in after years. 
Or a scent of faded flowers 

Perennial steeped in Nature's tears. 
Thou wert these, a keen bereavement, 

I have known, and lost too soon ; 
Vision first beloved to perish, 

Plight the last of vernal's bloom. 



EPISTLE TO A CRITIO. 19 

EPISTLE TO A CRITIC. 

J. R. of England. 

Dear friend, thy tardiness to view 

Thy kindred sister's native skies, 

'Tis but the prejudice, that thou 

Hast gleaned through light of Sophist eyes. 

Thou sayest, " We have no lineaged scenes 
Of ruins old, or fabled bowers, 
A wealth where in thy land is famed, 
Most rich in store of earthly dowers." 

Vain reason this, that thou art loath 
To pay a tendered visit here ; 
Because the similes of a land 
Like to thine own are not more clear. 

I do not hesitate that right, 

Of battlements and towers ; 

But we have richest landscapes nere, 

Of birds and fields and flowers. 

For Nature in her kindliest ways 

Gives us the Titian eyes, 

To paint at heart, what thou at sight 

Can'st scan her works through mantled guise. 

For castles, and legended walls, 

We have them here, wild prodigals, 

As rich in history, and more great, 

Than tinged with blood-edged chronicles. 



20 EPISTLE TO A CRITIC. 

The rocks yon stubbled fields adore, 
And pipe of bird, 'mid roadside way, 
These are thy Gothic pile to me, 
Thy darkened ages minstrel's lay. 

The lengthened, shadowed, elm-arched trees. 
Outskirts of many a churchyard's quiet : 
Here are as grandeured colonnades that hem in, 
As great a dead, as those of thine lone Abbeys 
• slumberous site. 

The daisy, too, majestically 
O'erbending at my feet, 
Hath in its hidden mystery 
A lore traced just as sweet. 

For seen by some lone lake in fancy seems 
A castle, amid its shadowed vim portrayed. 
Where the bee, more royal tenant than" a king. 
Amid luxuriate sweets, yet lives earth's wisest sage; 

And culls from distant meadows Nature's sweets 
To mix with those its nearer domains doth 

supply: 
A harvest gleaned that others may enjoy, 
In common, a far richer store than that wherein 

its native scenes do vie. 

So come thou now as likened to the bee 
And gather thoughts from other lands than 

thine. 
As dear unto the common heart at large 
As storied scenes wherein thy native glories shine. 



FLOWERS. 21 

FLOWERS. 

Written in Spring. 

Jewels more fair than noble's prize, 
Or meet in lovely women's eyes ; 
Now scatter earth in common guise, 
As wealth for which the poor but care ; 
Or blessings wherein the good have share, 
Earth's crowns ; that they at heart may wear, 
And feel her peers in coronals, 
More rich, and of a dearer worth ; 
Than that which a kindlier Providence 
Bequeaths to those of rank and favored birth. 

How like are these to virtue's blossoms rare 

That shed a wide influence everywhere, 

Earth's richest gems oft reared 'mid life's penuri- 
ous dir ', 

Yet forming tributes meet, which a peasant born 
may tender to a king. 

Or a monarch's richest diadem that from his serfs 
will bring, 

A worthier praise than that of which both sage or 
sing : 

'Tis the stamp that shows the poorest man's 

An equal to his richer brother. 

That makes royalty but a name 

Where 'tis inherited from another. 



TO A BLUEBIRD. 

REMEMBERED LOVE. 

To . ■ 

Though thou art changed, amid the scene 

Whose love to lose were better death, 

And mockingly doth worthy deem 

To pass me now without regret ; 

And joys divine of former years, 

In vision of thyself a part 

Are changed, and in their stead are tears, 

And in their place, a broken heart ; 

Yet time nor thought can ne'er efface 

A difference in me, 

No more than channeled courses pace 

Do meet a different sea : 

For as a bird truant flown yet all Winter defies, 

To shatter its love for the home cradled tree ; 

So my heart fondly turns to the summering skies, 

Of the love that I found but with thee. 



TO A BLUEBIRD. 

That thou art Spring's earliest peer, I can guess. 
By thy sweet voice of song, and prophetic dress. 
Bearing the season's sunshine, illumed on thy breast. 
And the truest tints of her blue skies, as prints to thy 
crest. 



TO A DAISY. 23 



TO A DAISY. 

When distant from the meadow first thrown upon the 

view, 
The peaceful village landscape, 'mid woodland gaps 

shown through ; 
Of cattle, where in pools their shadows dim are made, 
And whitened gleaming spires, 'mid the hamlet's fold 

portrayed ; 
Then do I think thy presence all Summer scenes 

surpass, 
Thy spot of white, in tinge upon the green, 
The same as some stray lamb that feeds upon the 

grass. 
An image that in purity like our earlier days doth 

seem. 

Thou art the poet's dream, his Eld, 

A mirage Heaven in thy very self, 

Of earth what part to him most fitly shows 

The wisdom, how to glean at heart some love from ills, 

his being knows, 
The ideal form, as bearing to his mind, 
What thou must be, though hid 'mid Nature's guise, 
A message sent divine unto some erring kind. 
That they again might see what formerly they have 

dreamed of Paradise. 



24 TO A DAIS v. 

And to the poor thou art what heritage they find, 

Of all the wealth that in their lot is dearest of its kind. 

To view, what 'mid an haughtier guise the peer never 

brooks 
Heaven's rich and holiest blessing as pictured in thy 

looks. 
Thy print in Nature's book shown clear, 
Of what to them their youth hath been ; 
Of virtues, whose sacredness here 
Do still reflect some kindlier gleam of piety to men. 

To me thou wert in truth, as yet, 
The all of love I did beget ; 
When youth, untainted deemed but bowers. 
As fraught with sunshine all of flowers 
And time unchanged no vision took 
But that of wood and vale around, 
The gilt girt^glimmer of sunlit brook 
And sky, whose blue in measured space all Summer's 
circuits bound. 

Then I was with thee, a very paramour in thought. 
Of joy and holy innocence, which thy society brought ; 
And loved with all a childish glee to trace 
Thy kindred beauties, picturing Nature's face, 
More rich than were the scenes, of castles far away, 
'Mid reeds that bent them sunward with the breeze, 
Or flocks that, 'mid the shadowed pastures lay. 
Seemed images of rest, like clouds seen through the rifts 
of skv-bound trees. 



TO A DAISY. 25 

'Twas June to thse, and to ray heart the while, 
When thou upon my soul first chanced to smile ; 
And June, as felt to throb in Nature's very breast, 
'Mid stream, the field and hive, and clay-thatched nest. 
The robin, from its old time cradled tree. 
Gave forth an overplus of melody its own, 
And the wild and riotous, buccaneering bee, 
Forth from the nunneried lily sent a most sacrilegious 
drone. 

And then a double Summer's scene reflection found. 
Of that which amid the foliage tree, or mirrowed lake 

abound, 
A perfect mass of counterfeits were dimly pencilled 

here; 
Gray cliffs, dark margined leaves and boughs, and hazy 

vistaed hills both far and near. 
The glimpse of a rick and its mimicked self, that slept 

in the noonday sun, 
And a miniature bridge, whose inverted shape lay aslant, 

like those of the poplars bending nigh. 
Or, the lithograph of rocks that hung. 
Drowsy cloud heads along the duplicated sky. 

Ab, me ! as when that season's dream 'mid field and 

lawn. 
That of thy kindest influence was born ; 
So thou art still mine oasis amid the desert grass, 
Of life's experience where I, now toilworn and weary, 

daily pass ; 



26 SHATTERED FRIENDSHIP. 

Thy silvery urn upwells some laveing store 
Of memory, unto my sterner knowledged heart : 
That gives me back my childhood days once more, 
Of life the dearest, and as yet by far the most hallowed 
part. 



886. 



SHATTERED FRIENDSHIP. 

Dedicated to , 

As stars that once had their guidance here, 

Through numbered courses set; 

And flowers that one day have bloomed 

Another w^ithered ; 

And as all things that in youth were met. 

In glory dreams of Heaven, 

Are changed, and in their place instead, 

Some wantoned image scene is given, 

That scarce bears memory in its tracks. 

Or charms to cherish dear : 

As prayers, once guardians of our trundle bed, 

Are now but scarce remembered here, 

So thou, loved through all sacrifice, 

Art a shattered idol known by years; 

As hopes that tinged life's morning's sky 

At evening is turned to fears. 

1886. 



A LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF S. Z. 27 



A LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF S. Z. 

You may not see me here again, 
Dear child she said that hour; 

And then I saw what gave me pain, 
She faded like an Autumn flower. 

I watched where yet a few days old, 
I had a right to all the power, 

That lay within my innate soul, 
To cheer her in life's closing hour. 

But that blest time was numbered o'er, 

The respite to me given; 
Now was chronicled for me no more. 

But counted ill of Heaven. 

For death closed her eyes, like a book. 
To hide her life's history from men. 

But from me it the secret ne'er took; 

For I, of the past, knew too well what had 
been. 

And, ah well, it all comes back to-day, 
Those cruel, cruel words that I said; 

And the love that I flung then scornful away, 
I think of it now that she is dead. 



28 A LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF S. Z. 

Ah, though the world will never know in part, 

The love she bore for me; 
And the world will never care at heart, 

To ask this much of me. 

Yet if, but by that promise and vow, 

To her in youth bequest; 
I could only say as now, 

I their sacredness rememberest. 

Alas, that I ne'er merited her true worth, 
Nor owned her heart's sweet dialect. 

Till she had blossomed out of birth, 
Heaven's voice to myself so long reject. 

I marvel now how such a flower 

Could have had its bloom on Eden's shore, 

Its ethereal hue, how have the power. 
Such dreams of a vanished scene restore. 

Not all the myriad streams of Venice 

Did ever in their flow express. 
Though picturing both tower and palace, 

Such a portraiture of loveliness. 

Nor the flocks of Arno's distant fold, 
That show their whiteness to the sun. 

Are not more fair than she, whose heart once did 
hold 
In charms all Eden's ways among. 



THE RELIGION OF ROBERT BURNS. 29 

What now, that violets in Spring's first smile 

Are blossoming for me; 
And the robins pouring forth the while 

Their time-told melody. 

And that there's a mete ®f charm to every flower, 

And a joy to note from every tree; 
When the sweetest of idol in Eden's bower, 

Is aye eclipsed from the love of me. 
1886. 



THE RELIGION OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Of the religion of this illustrious Scottish Bard, much 
has been said; some have put forth one theory and some 
another in regard to it. But, in looking over the works 
of this poet, I think the truest clue may be found in the 
following lines, as to what his religion really was. 

His heart was ne'er of sect or creed, 
That works to ruin a brother wrong ; 

The sentiments, that unto Rome, 

The Sanhedrim, or our own authority* belong : 

But his religion was humanity, 

That takes both Jew and Gentile in ; 

The pulse of true Christianity 

Worth, in a single throb, our whole machine. 

1886. 

* In reference to Protestantism. 



30 



A STANWICH WALK REVEKIB. 



A STANWICH WALK REVERIE. 

Rustic muse come walk with me 

Far away our steps shall be, 

To where the spicy russet ripeneth, 

And the quail from the marshland pipeth 

A harvest song of sweetest note, 

To mingle with the reaper's stroke; 

Where mother robin smooths her breast, 

Seated on her rustic nest; 

Rocked, by the breezes softest blow, 

That through emerald leaves, of sunbeams glow, 

Plays finger notes on cobweb strings 

When the tenant hums to rhyme within. 

Winged above the dew moist flowers 

Hum-bees toil the busied hours ; 

Coverings of the ivied tower, 

Makes for the bat a slumbering bower; 

Butterflys of sport grown worn 

Rest awhile on the churchyard stone; 

While seated by the streamlet's brink, 

We'll see the water turtle sink : 

The dragon fly speed on the wing 

O'er the tall grass where the crickets sing ; 

Croaks the brook frog by the bog, 

Then plungeth 'neath the miry sod: 

Watch the golden sun's last ray, 

Ere 'neath the hill it hies away ; 



31 



Mark the maiden's kine home call, 
Listen to the sounds let fall; 
From tower's steep, the twilight bell, 
That of repose and peace doth tell. 



LINES. 



Written on hearing a discussion on the Right Hon. William 
Evart Gladstone. 

One man is the simile of another, 
Be it in heart affection, or in deed. 
Type shown of one of art and creed 

I have known as endowed a brother,* 
That struggled for humanity's sake 

(Though only in a different sphere). 
As nobly as e'er did poet, sage or peer; 

Whose merits, if viewed through worthier eyes, 
His, too, might then a distinction be. 
As great as his, that was lauded to me 

So flatteringly through orator's guise. 



LOVE'S SIMILE. 

The bud's gentle trembles at the approach of a storm, 
That pass unmolesting by; 

Are the doubts of a lover, whose heart's ruthless torn. 
With the fears that disturb not the serene of his sky. 

* In reference to Charles Goodyear : see sketch of his life in 
the May loth number, 1888, of " The Youth's Companion." 



32 A SUMMER KEVEBIE ON COLEQUAM LAKE. 

A SUMMER AFTERNOON'S REVERIE ON THE 
BANKS OF THE COLEQUAM LAKE. 

Here do I pause, to dream awhile, 
Of Nature's beauty in her smile; 
Of ripples on the breeze-stirred lake 
That in its shallow depths does take, 
The mirrow of rocks, the sky and trees, 
The wooden bridge, and mill that lay, 
'Yrw^ facsimiles of those one sees 
Half through the gap in the roadside way. 

The cattle 'neath the elms, in pictured groups, of twos 

and threes. 
Stand dreamily 'mid their shadows with the grass up to 

their knees ; 
While the barefoot urchins leisurely out-stretched upon 

the grass. 
Watch the clouds, their fancied vessels, reflected in the 

water pass : 
And the sheep that in the distance, in whitened masses 

lay. 
Seem like winter drifts of snowbanks, lingering on the 

pastoral scene ; 
And the swallows, skimming o'er the new mown meadows 

far away, 
Cast their double self in shadows upon the shimmering 

green. 



A SUMMER REVERIE ON COLEQUAM LAKE. 33 

The gilded vane, on the far off village spire, gleams like 

a bit of molten gold; 
And through the nearer dun barn's door agap, the 

sunshine gleams in bars of silvery mold ; 
While to the north, where the old mill roads go winding 

in dusty channels here and there. 
Rises the smoke, from the sleepy hamlet's cottages like 

incense on the sweet ambrosial air; 
From daisies, nodding lazily upon the upland lea. 
And buttercups, whose tiny urns are with the season's 

ripeness over-run; 
And clover blooms, rich garnet gems, that stud the hill- 
side's brow majestically ; 
Or, the tasseled corn, like warriors plumed, whose 

scabbard blades flash in silvery whiteness to the sun. 

Here all is quiet, save where yon inlet gurgles on the 

pebbly beach ; 
And above, the hawk high sailing, utters forth its 

marauding screech: 
The voices of the mowers fall anon upon the ear. 
Making merry o'er their luncheon, seated beside the 

cone-like rick built near. 
While the crows flying homeward, to the woodlands far 

away. 
Pause awhile to hail their fellows in the neighboring trees; 
And the oriole in coat of fire, atilt on the elm's feathery 

spray. 
Sings to its mate in pendant nest, that sways to and fro 

in the breeze. 



34: A SUMMER REVERIE ON COLEQUAM LAKE. 

The farm-yard fowls' day's challenging note is passed 

more faint, from farm to farm, 
While the home-bound watch-dog's sullen bay breaks in 

upon the Sabbath-like calm ; 
And the locusts' shrill alarm begun now dies in softest 

cadence on the ear, 
While adown the valley paths the cow-bells tinkling 

seem at once far off and near; 
Sweet sounds the merry children shouting letting down 

the pasture bars, 
And the farm-boy's cheery whistle as he leads the cattle 

through, 
Now the barnyard's cumbrous gale, on its sullen hinges 

jars, 
And the milk-maid carols soft 'mid the falling of the dew. 

Hemmed in by drowsy landscape, seen through tne glim- 
mering haze. 

And o'erhung with the afternoon shadows now how 
languidly it lays; 

A mimic bit of blue sky asleep on Nature's breast, 

Like a child that on a mother's lap, aweary drops to 
rest. 

For the west wind truant straying, leaves it wrapt in 
visioned dreams 

Of woods, the greening rim of sloping hills and level 
stretch of meadows far away. 

Where in the humble farmhouse window longest gleams, 

The golden sunset flush of the departing day. 



LINES. 35 

Fair scenes, much loved in other years, that again 

around my memory do cling, 
Like we amid the Summer's verge 
Have thoughts come back of the season's vanished 

Spring; 
Sweet lake, beside whose calm seen deep so often I have 

strayed, 
In holier and happier hours as a child have played ; 
Though that time is e'er effaced, yet still 
With all a miser's care I trace 
These lineaments that e'er will 
Wear for me an old-time friend's familiar face. 

[See note on last page.] 



LINES. 

Written on seeing a field strewn with buttercups and 
daisies. 
Earth's master gold-smith 
Has beaten us out silver and gold 
As currency, more precious at heart, wherewith 
To gain her stored wealth, than what her mines unfold, 
Unto the speculative eye for gain. 
Where with to build great palaces and domes ; 
Or bartered in the mart to aim 
For richer hoard, that sells the soul, 
To all the former pageantry of life; 
When such chance emblems, yet held the whole 
Of a joy, unmete with care, or sorrow rife. 



36 PASSING CHILDHOOD. 



AUTUMNAL ODE. 



1887. 



Flowers have faded, leaves have fallen ; 
Summer's birds have took their flight ! 

Wheat is ripe, the corn is yellow ; 
Joyful harvest time has come ! 

Swarthy farmer, with his sickle, 

The golden grain now cutteth down. 

Happy maidens, in the deep woods, 
Now are gathering the last berries. 

Busy squirrels, nuts have gathered, 
Loudly chirp among the limbs. 

Frost has come, winds are blowing, 
O ! the Summer's past and gone. 



PASSING CHILDHOOD. 

Go, happy child, while yet you may, 

Join merry in the village sport 

For thy life is sweet, and ah ! more short 
Than thoughtless dreams of yesterday. 



A SUMMER night's MUSING. 37 

A SUMMER NIGHT'S MUSING. 

The glow has faded from the west, 

And the kine have gone to rest; 

While the evening shades, around 

All the earth, have wrapt their shroud ; 

And from the sky the crescent moon 

With stars, look down amid the gloom, 

Upon the earth in sweet repose; 

While swiftly, on her wings, night goes, 

And in the dell the cypress bough 

A snug retreat the nightly owl ; 

With eyes that wander here and there, 

Makes woeful notes upon the air : 

And the brook, its downward course, 

Where o'er the rocky height it falls. 

Makes sweetest music in the night, 

With crystal drops that sparkle bright ; 

The cricket's chirp comes from the meadow 

That, with katy-dids together, 

Echo forth their mirthful song 

All the midnight Summer's long; 

While evening's breezes gentle blow. 

Through the trees are murmuring low ; 

Where from out the wood the Whippoorwill, 

Sings forth while all around is still : 

Loud o'er the hill the hound whines low. 

And from the roost the cock doth crow. 

While above one silvery star shining bright, 

Heralds in the morning's glowing light. 



38 



INSCRIPTION. 



RESIGNATION. 



We may not prize a jeweled crown 

Born of decay ; 
Nor meet all wealth, without adversity's frown, 

Along life's rugged way : 
Nor hope to live on glory's page, 

Famed phantoms of an hour ; 
This privilege given to the few, 

Of Heaven's own especial dower; 
Yet we may live unblemished lives. 

Knights of worth's illustrious garter; 
With truth and love, the coronals in heir, 

For which no costly crowns of earth as yet 
had barter. 



INSCRIPTION. 

Inscription for the fountain erected in Greenwich^ Ct.y in 
1887, and presented by Mrs. Milbanks. 

Urn dedicated to a want long felt by all humanity, 
Tribute which no hand e're gave more worthy 

A public charity ; 
Long may the draught from thy rim flow 

Free as the gift was given, 
To man, and bird and panting beast, 

As the pure beverage of Heaven. 
Greenwich, Ct.. July 29th, 188^ 



A BROOK EEVEKIE. 39 



A BROOK REVERIE. 

Faintly, faintly, comes the murmur, 

Of the water's gentle flow; 
Dashing from the mossy height, 

To the valley's green below. 

Dotted o'er with clover blossoms, 

Buttercups and daisies white, 
On which the humming-bees gather 

While the dews are sparkling bright. 

Then winding 'mong the woodland, 
Where the reeds and rushes grow; 

And the humming-bird's nest is swung 
By the breezes to and fro. 

Songs of birds sweetly singing, 

Echos softly amid the forest gloom ; 

Gently by the breezes bloom, the leaves 
Are odeing forth a joyous Summer's tune. 

With cricket's chirp beneath the sod, 

And chattering squirrels among the limbs, 

Around which the ancient moss, 
With hanging grape-vine clings. 

And violets in bloom, 

With dewy blue-bells hanging low ; 
O'er the moss-grown bank. 

By the water's gentle flow. 



4:0 TRIALS. 

Then out into the meadow, 

Where the farmer's cutting wheat, 

And the tanned maidens 
Are binding up the sheaves. 

The oriole, from its nest. 

Flies to the elm's branches high. 

Singing sweet notes all the day- 
Till the western glow has left the sky. 

Beneath the apple blossomed boughs 

Are cattle lying low, 
Among the waving grasses tall, 

Where the breezes come and go. 

And water lillies, white as snow. 
Are weeping 'neath the golden sun, 

With pearly drops, that from the leaves 
Are falling one by one. 

Then splashing o'er the mossy wheel 

Of the mill in yonder dell ; 
So, on and on, it runneth its course 

Murmuring soft in its depths a sweet farewell. 



TRIALS. 

Each trial's but a link of love, let down to us from 

Heaven, 
Whereby to form trust's golden span, that leads again 

back thither. 



FAITH. 41 



DEAD IS THE REIGN OF SUMMER'S PRIDE. 

Dead is the reign of Summer's pride, 
Gone are its beauties o'er vale and hill; 

Grey-edged clouds in the zenith ride, 

That with melancholy grief the heart doth fill. 

Faded and gone is the glow in the sky, 
Silent sweet music o'er valleys and hills; 

Wind blown deep, the forest trees sigh 
With a dreary bareness of limbs. 

Vanished the brightness of morning's glow, 

Flown have the birds on the wing; 
To that sunnier land, where the orange-buds blow. 

There to await the returning of Spring. 

Faded the beauty of Summer flowers. 
Strewn are the leaves in the forest deep; 

Gone is the splendor of Nature's bowers, 
To their Winter's long dreary sleep. 

And all are gone, in shrouds are lain, 
The fairest deemed of all the earth ; 

Yet Summer's memory sweet retain 
Their hues of blossom and of birth. 



FAITH. 



He in faith who sees life's bitterness to-day, 
In joy o'er smiles the morrow. 



42 autttmnal dirge. 



AUTUMNAL DIRGE. 

A decaying sense is overhead, 

A fading one beneath; 
Where Autumn, with his chilling breath, 

Bids us walk his melancholy street. 

And view the things his hand has wrought 

A scene of desolation o'er ; 
And list to the sound his voice has brought, 

A sound that whispers soon no more. 

Where are the brightsome Summer days, 
And where the sky of azure blue; 

That 'neath that hand have given place. 
To lurid clouds of darkest hue. 

And Summer's sweet-scented flowers, 
Blooming colors of the rainbow's hue; 

That lived with us those gladsome hours. 
By what finger's touch have vanished too. 

Full long ago the songsters gay. 

Have winged their flight to sunnier lands ; 
And left this scene of sad decay. 

To Nature's grim despoilers* hands. 

Strewn leaves rustle sad below. 

Withered in death's chilly bed; 
Branches, waving to and fro 

O'erhead, sing dirges to the dead. 



AUTUMNAL DAYS. 43 

'The streamlet's brink is russet sere, 

Where Autumn draws his shroud around, 

And shrieketh, piercing in its ear, 
Death with a knelling sound. 



AUTUMNAL DAYS. 

The Autumn days are nearing fast. 
Their chill is borne on zephyr's wings; 

That bids farewell to Summer's past, 
And all the joy and peace it brings. 

And sighing to the dead leaves fall, 

Where quietude and peace have reigned ; 

It telleth to the wood God's tall. 
Their beauty at their feet are laid. 

The crows, from out the wooded clump, 
Caw cheerless o'er the meadows sere ; 

The woodman's axe's dulling thump, 
Sounds knelling on the ear. 

From purpling grapes in the arbored glen, 
The frost-drops hang a darkened hue; 

This spot once loved by saucy wren, 
Is now forsaken too. 

The constant hum of bees is heard. 
No more to break the noon-day calm ; 

Nor the sweetest music of the bird, 
Breaks forth in an exalted psalm. 



44 god's coin. 

The daisies, our door-yard prides of old, 
Now pale their former beauty on the eye , 

And buttercups, that held the season's wealth of 
gold, 
Show their discolored splendor to the sky. 

All Nature wears a sobered look. 

That speaks a sorrow for the waning year ; 

The low, sad murmur of the woodland brook, 
Proclaims her end is near. 



TO ROBERT BURNS. 

Thou gifted soul of song. 
Whose melodious ear has lain, 
Nearest to the hearts revibrating. 
And with a magic hand has touched 
Its keys in master harmonies ; 
Stirring, and at times breathing balm, 
Like an ^Eolian harp ; 
Stirred by the winds every influence, 
At times loud, and tremulous, 
At others sweet and calm. 



1888. 



GOD'S COIN. 

Beneath the rust-worn soul of vice and sin. 
There yet is hid the Maker's royal stamp. 



A HOME PICTURE. 45 



A HOME PICTURE. 

Fancy's painter draws a picture, 

Of a rural aspect clear, 
Colors to an Autumn mixture, 

Finishes to a beauty dear.. 

First of all to heart endeared 

Is the home of childhood's joy, 
Where, a-mid love and friendship reared, 

Learned I things that never cloy. 

There are they who taught my heart 

Orphaned love them as to kin. 
They it was who lived apart 

To childhood's joy or sorrowing. 

Within the western sunbeam glimmereth 
The housewife sings in treble note. 

The kettle on the hob loud simmereth, 

And the old man dreams from chair remote, 

The clock wears time on the kitchen shelf. 
The house-dog stretched upon the floor 

Upstarts with many a long drawn yelp. 
When clicks the latch of the oaken door. 

The farm-boy who from milking comes, 

Heaps seasoned logs on the glowing hearth, 

With joyous heart when chores are done, 
Applies him well for future worth. 



46 A HOME PICTURE. 

While Ada plys the silken thread, 
The shuttle glimmering through; 

Anon sings low then lifts her head, 

Marks where on the trellis falls the dew. 

Then folds she neat the coverlet spread, 
And joins the puss' good natured sport; 

It sits her lap its noble head, 

Many caresses finds for smart deeds wrought. 

While mother left her treble notes, 
Smiles on her child her heart is gay; 

Much for her future good she dotes. 
When of all beloved she'll pass away. 

More loving matron ne'er was seen 

(Nor daughter better returned love given), 

Called by all Aunt Mary of the green. 
All number blest her crown of Heaven. 

Then gather they the humble board. 
Fervently blest the old man sets; 

In feeble trembling aged mood, 
Partaketh with the rest. 

When cleared the board of frugal food 

Picture then the rustics joyed; 
The squire gives in kindly mood 

His jokes, by all enjoyed. 



A HOME PICTURE. 47 

The shy farm-boy's his butt, no doubt, 
Whose heart's enshrined for rural maid. 

Tries hard to raise a cheer without 
Wounding his heart for homage paid. 

The shyest of all lads is he, 

Known full well both near and far; 
Yet mourn they not that thus he be 

Better thus than what some others are. 

Of luxuriate joys regaled at last. 

Soft is raised the wicket's latch, anon 

The clock wears drowsed hours past, 

While the household to rest and peace have gone. 

Without, when harvest days are fair 
And bright the Autumn glories die; 

Then laden deep perfumed, the air 

Gives new life to the soul and light to the eye. 

All things are robed in various dyes, 
The oak-tree prides in glories vain, 

And the bell-pear, that 'mid the shrubbery lies, 
Tells beauty there long unknown has lain. 

The constant hum of bees is heard 

The arbored grape-vine 'mong ; 
While in the woods, from many a bird 

Sweet wild learned notes are wrun^. 



48 A HOME PICTURE. 

The gushing pool of many a fall 

O'er moss-grown rocky heights. 
Doth many a vanished scene recall, 

And many a joyous sight. 

The cricket by its coolness sings 

Through all the live-long day ; 
While drowsily, the butterfly wings 

O'er the meadows, spread with new-mown hay. 

Soft is heard the rabbit's tread 
'Mong the hard-trod pebbly clay, 

With ears erect how swift 'tis fled 

Started where chirps the squirrel away. 

The cattle browse the verdant vale, 

Untended and alone; 
From berry-gatherers in the dale 

Come echoes soft of home. 

The church that decks yon ancient green. 
There many a Sabbath's sweet are spent ; 

There twain of joy and sorrow seen, • • 
There many a soul is heavenward sent. 

Religion's there the truest heard, 

Purest thoughts of a good man given; 

That lives to life, in hearts are burned, 
And gives us hope of a God and Heaven. 



A HOME PICTURE. 49 

How true and straight its spire gleams, 
Viewed the hills and valleys 'round, 

How sweet, when soft the twilight steals, 
Listening to its cadence sound. 

Sweet bell, thou Stanwich bell. 

Of the past what changing scenes you have 
chimed ; 
We honor thee, and love thee well. 

For the sacred ties that our friendship binds. 

On yonder slope the school-house seen 

Much of tempests, rustic's wear, 
Yet nestles sweet the common green 

Makes to rural heart a picture fair. 

There the matron with commanding air 
Shares to every novice's future aim ; 

She with all a mother's patient care 

Tries hard for each in life to gain a name. 

There rural maid and orphaned lad, 
Join twain the hand in sportive glee, 

The joyful comfort those when sad, 
Nor scorn the ones of poverty. 

What associates and memories dear 

Shall linger, when in after years, 
From love and truest friendship here 

We'll revert us back through grief and tears. 



50 OLD AGE. 

Now, ere the picture's drawn complete, 

Stanwich churchyard claims a spot, 
For often there, with solemn feet, 

Bourn we to rest our dearest 'neath its sod. 

Oft marked where the beetle at twilight droned. 
The dew on the flowers abloom on their grave ; 

Oft list where the owl through the willow bough 
moaned, 
And heard we the echo its mate backward gave. 

And spied where the robin had built her a nest, 
'Side the slab of their high turfted bed ; 

AVhen flown to afar, and food was her quest. 
We knew that a life was born of the dead. 

At last 'tis finished painter, and well. 

Thy picture's framed, thy best touches given. 

When breaketh our morrow, but sweetly 'twill tell. 
We'll redream us these scenes as of life's earliest 
Heaven. 



OLD AGE. 

Old age is but a long blossomed flower, 

Nearing its Autumnal sleep; 
Waiting to burst and bloom more brilliantly. 

At its next ethereal Spring. 



TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEK. 51 



TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 

Magician of verse, who through all these years, 

A magic spell's been weaving; 
To-day the common human heart, 

Thy efforts are receiving. 

For memory cons thy volume o'er, 

Its inner meanings gaining; 
That to a whole world's multitude, 

A part of life's drawn chart's retaining. 

As yet to-day the judge sighs on, 

'Mid life's ambitious stage-grown cooler ; 

O ! were mine again the humble lot 
Of life, with sweet Maud Mullen 

And a maiden standing with bare feet, 

In a field of dew-wet clover; 
Muses in her happy freedom, 

A staid judge's bride's life over. 

While a merchant, worn and weary. 
With the city's busy marts' employ, 

Murmurs O, that I were but again 
The poet's barefoot boy. 



52 TO JOHN GKEENLEAF WHITTIER. 

Half dozing in his arm chair, the aged sire 
dreams, 
His school-days brightest pictures aptly showing, 
As he sigheth to himself, ah, "dear girl!" 

That the grasses on her grave have these forty 
years been growing. 

And a child of fortune's favored smile, 

Wrapt in luxury's silken gown; 
Oft the past lives o'er, and in a humbler lap. 

With the farm-boy shakes the walnuts down. 

Amid yon prison walls, damp and cold. 
The prisoner, through the grating dim, 

Sees freedom's wealth of sunshine without. 
And poverty's curse of chains within. 

The pale mechanic, in pent-up room. 
Humming o'er thy " Songs of Labor," 

Feels a manlier spirit in the toil. 
That to his lot in life is neighbor. 

And " Snow Bound," again in dreams are seen 
Blest scenes, and well remembered places, 

The gloom, the glowing hearth and room 
Filled with old time's dear familiar faces. 

In thy home ballads many a heart 

Finds life's written idyls once its own; 

Old ties, old legends, home pictures drawn 
From childhood's idolized zone. 



GERTIE GRAY. 

Those songs and lays, the richer grown 

And sweeter for the singing; 
Dear common thoughts, on common themes, 

In every human bosom springing. 

For dear poet thy heart learned allegories, 
Are our every-day life's frictions; 

As the actor plays the ideal part 

Of another's real life drama fictions. 



1888 



GERTIE GRAY. 

Peace to thy soul, beloved Gertie Gray, 
That came like a flowerlet, fair in its blooming; 
Like a star of the welkin, bright in its looming. 
Or a sylvan harp strung to its tuning — 
Odes sweet of love on a mild Summer's day. 

Light was the heart of thy youth Gertie Gray, 
Sweet was the love to thy fellowmen bearing. 
Sweeter the smile thy sunny face wearing; 
Sweet as a light, 'mid a stormed sea flaring, 
Guiding the mariner safe on his way. 

Thy joys, born of hopes, most divine Gertie Gray, 
Were through times of a May scene, most dear for be- 
guiling, 
Thy dreams cherished here, too, in measure were whiling 
As a mother's, bent o'er her first-born in smiling, 
Doth see the long night-watch fade to morn's hopeful 
ray. 



54 HEAVENLY CONSOLATION. 

The life that we led, 'twas thine Gertie Gray, 
Its roses and thorns twain a binding, 
'Round thy brow into death wreaths were winding. 
While we with affectionate sorrow were finding, 
Thou wert not long to linger or stay. 

And left us, so sad and alone, Gertie Gray, 

Went like a cloud of a Summer's day flying, 

Went like the wind through the holly bough sighing, 

Or like an echo, on a beaten shore dying. 

Went from our love and our sorrow away. 

To haunt but in visions of yore, Gertie Gray, 
Peace which the thought of thy memory aye giveth. 
Peace from the isles of the earth ever liveth, 
Happy in a holier beauty revealeth, 
Thine's the sweet solace of Heaven for aye. 



HEAVENLY CONSOLATION. 

Like orphaned birds that from the nest, 

Do cry themselves most piteously. 
Then sink to rest in perfect trustfulness, 

Of an all Father's watchfulness; 
So we bereft of love, at first 

Grow petulant and disconsolate. 
Until, in calmer moments, we too find recompense 

In that same dear God's kind providence. 



65 



A MOTHER'S SPINNING REVERIE. 

As I sit and spin within my door, 

My thoughts go back to days that are gone; 
When children sat upon this floor, 

Playing with a wooden ball; 
Over which they would laugh and shout, 

To see the baby throw it about. 

And on those beautiful Summer days, 
When birds sang in the foliage of green; 

While down by the brook, where the tall grass 
sways, 
The dragon-fly was to be seen; 

Darting to and fro in its play. 

And catching the insects that came in its way. 

While the cattle under the big elm lay, 

Quietly chewing their cud; 
The flies around them were buzzing away, 

As bound for mischief they scud; 
And down in the meadow with grass so green and 
tali. 

The crickets sang their evening song. 

'Twas on those beautiful Summer evenings, 

As the children sat upon the floor; 
And Janet to us was reading, 

I sat within this door, 
Spinning from this wheel the silken white tow, 

In those quiet days of yore. 



56 LINES. 

What sadness brought one of those bright sunny 
days, 
As the sun cast its shadow on field and forest 
green; 
For then the last of my darlings passed silent away, 

And oh ! if you could have only seen 
The sorrow it brought to my heart. 
As I from my last darling did part. 

Soon the buzz of this wheel shall cease, 

And I who have turned is so long; 
You, in the :ittic, shall rest in peace, 

Whilst I shall be borne 
By the Angel of Death, to that Heavenly home, 

Where my loved ones shall beckon and wait no 
more. 



LINES. 

(Accompanying a bunch of flowers.) 

Prese?tted to L. M. TV. 

Like children prodigal from home's affection sound, 
That once lighted up the door-yard with their quiet 

smile; 
So these chance-buds culled from Nature's lap and bound 
To thee may speak some pleasured past as sweet here 

the while. 



''STANWICH FRIENDS EULOGY. 5? 

STANWICH FRIENDS EULOGY. 

Dedicated to and , 

I sat with them that sat within, 

The holy house of God; 
Where Summer's cheer came stealing in, 

As rarest offerings above. 

How still, within that house we love, 
The communion-cup around is passed, 

In memory of our dying Lord, 
Amid grief and sorrow asked. 

Beside me sat my youthful friends — 

My bosom friends of younger days, 
With lips to the cup, from their hearts there went 

On high, the sweetest prayer of praise. 

Much beloved are they the rural wide, 
Much praised for goodness and of truth, 

Much sought at evening prayers unite 
With those of Christian brotherhood. 

The godly people love to view, 

The ardor of their souls; 
And love to hear their voices too, 

The gospel truths unfold 



68 STANWICn FRIENDS EULOGY. 

The aged deacons dream the time, 

When summoned to their rest; 
These youths, now grown to manhood's prime, 

Shall fill their place instead. 

While the parson sees his labors wrought, 
In precious fruits, like these as given. 

And joys the day, when first he brought 
Their souls to work for God and Heaven. 

They toil each day with cheery hands. 
For parents' comfort and their peace; 

And pride them well their acred lands. 
With fruits of all their toils are pleased. 

Their Sabbaths of all days rejoiced, 
In village church are sweetly spent; 

In their accustomed seats are first, 
And first, im humble prayer are bent. 

They teach at Sabbath-school a class, 

Try hard tliat there truest thoughts are given; 

And mold the rustics' spirit fast, 

To deeds of love, and praise of Heaven. 

Thus joy and sorrow, with the throng, 

Blest rustics of that village staid; 
Thus lived their lives, by goodness born. 

Shall end them thus, 'neath heaven's eternal shade. 



THE AKTIST AND THE P0P::T. 59 



TO AN EARLY WAYSIDE FLOWER. 

Hail floweret hail ! the firstling here, 
That Spring doth harbor as her peer; 

Thou metest charms by far more dear, 
Than blooms of a gayer climes appear. 

But lately blown from out the west 
The cold wind broke thy gentle rest, 

And chilly blew upon thy breast 
Thine elegance all scorning. 

But now truant children joyfully meet 
In verge upon the village street. 
And pluck thee, springing at their feet, 
To form a nosegay more mete. 

Than that which monarch on his walk, 

Finds that to him beauties richer language talk; 
And plucketh springing on the stalk, 
For palace's adorning. 



THE ARTIST AND THE POET. 

The artist's grandest picture's but for a few connoisseurs 

wrought. 
While the poet's idlest verses have a whole world's 

thought. 



60 A KEVEKIE UNDER THE ELM. 

A REVERIE UNDER THE ELM. 

Dedicated to A. L„ 

PRELUDE. 

London, Rouen and Paris — Verona, Florence and Venice 
All these, cities of the Old World, famed for wonder and 

splendor ; 
Living in story, tradition and song, 
London, Rouen and Paris, these first three 
Eminent metropolitan centers, 
And marts of traffic and commerce. 
Verona, with its myriad antique columns, 
Its cathedrals and battlements, of centuried standing, 
Speaking of grandeur, wealth, and magnificence ; 
Florence, the classic seat of wisdom and knowledge, 
Rich in lore, art and greatness ; 

And Venice, proud city of palaces, towers and waterways, 
The attraction of earth, and Mecca of pilgrimage ; 
All, thou hast told me of all these, and yet ' 
I'll give to thee as sweet a scene 
To garner, in life's memoried page. 
For the dear sake of an old-time cherished friend. 

A REVERIE UNDER THE ELM. 

Clear through the dim vista of long intervening years 
Lives infancy, like a sweet visioned dream. 
Barring out all the influence of life's sterner age, 
Rich in its own emolument and wise, 
For there are ties and scenes, the better were forgot ; 



A KEVERIE UNDEK THE ELM. 61 

Yet this has been kept dear to memory's heart, 

Like some old-time baptismal of love, 

We keep in heirloom as of our better self. 

'Tis well at times to furl off our fast corroding souls 

Of hardness, amid the incessant struggle after gain, 

And muse with kindlier eyes of other days ; 

When life was left to fancy, and to plan 

Its own delight — which now the proud lipped man 

Has often missed amid statelier pomp and scenes. 

Beneath this roof of consecrated shade, 

Which, year by year, has added to its bounds. 

Until now it spreads a universe of green 

O'er me, its private hospitality. 

Creating me again past peer to all its sacredness, 

Showering down its benediction, gleams of Heaven, 

That fills me with that reverential awe 

Felt formerly, in the holy presence of its calm. 

Here little is changed since I first found 

A close retreat, far from the outer world, 

Of bustle, whirl and busy strife. 

To muse freighted with waifs of thought that fling 

Back quaint old pictures gathered here, 

In memory of life's happier stage. 

Now Spring is the pride of the year. 

Brimming the soul with new pulsation; 

Steeping the brain with thoughts that weigh upon the 

heart, 
And have an ever after sweet rememberance ; 



62 A KEVEEIE UNDER THE ELM. 

What, with the invitation that it gives, 

To lie in cfreamy reverie underneath this ancient tree , 

And share the richest bounty of its stay, 

In scenes that seem, the first fair windfalls 

Of ripe promise in which the season boasts. 

And drops into the teeming lap of May; 

Excluding all the blemish with which the year, 

In frost, and rime, and keenness, 

Has tried to fill the mind with images 

Mete unto these and failed. 

Here under the stately elm, towering high, 

An aged centenarian, amid the present age. 

The last known remnant of some hardy puritan stock 

That stands a hostess of the field unto this day, 

A landmark dear to all the country round ; 

And unto man, beast and bird, a godly hermitage 

Crowned thickly now with shadow haunted leaves. 

And intermingling boughs of densest canopy, 

Through which the beeeze in stirring often breaks 

The drowsiness and quietness, its boon. 

I live the old time o'er, and dream, 

A very child again in thought and years; 

Rich in the sweet influence which Nature throws 

Around me, fraught with old romantic scenes. 

Ah ! in this youth's May, a life lived in a month, 
Years of thought crowded into this atom space, 
All childhood pleasures dwelt in so short a span 
bequeathing therein an eternal inheritance; 



A REVERIE UNDER THE ELM. 63 

Making me rich with its meagrest surroundings, 
Swelling the languid soul with sweetest emotions 
Diffusing the sense with comforts the season so lavishly 

gives, 
For in that time j^oung life fresh throbbing in the 

breast 
(Like that felt stirring 'neath New England's sod), 
Lived free from thraldom that it since then has 

known; 
Happy in the deep seclusion of the scene, 
Hallowed with its native piety, whose faith, 
Through each succeeding year, has but my life more 

holier shown, 
Like the ring unto this tree annual added, speaks of a 

more mature growth. 

Now dear to me, is the season's earliest show 

Of clouds that line the horizon's western marge, 

Blazing the sphere of blue within their fold ; 

In cheat a very exodus of Summer to fullness grown. 

The snowdrifted hills blown o'er by Winter's blustering 

winds; 
Defying all advances that Spring so coyly gives. 
Trailing with robe of green her yearly dominions o'er; 
Flinging anemones profusely upon the barren scene, 
Making a final victory with sunshine, warm and clear. 
And dear, too, is her later right and ascendency ; 
When o'er the fields of green the waves of light and 

shade continually do flow; 



C)4: A REVERIE UNDER THE ELM. 

And the river is winding in steely curves, to sparl^le fit- 
full in the sun, 

While the blue birds piping loud, shifting anon, from 
tree to tree. 

Bringing back the former gladness heir to wood, fields, 
sky and desert air. 

Yet dearer far is this old parental tree, 
This oft frequented shelter of circling green; 
The linchen on the bark, just covering part 
Of a small space, recordant of all past friendship; 
For here, once a group of merry t:hildren came 
To play, and carved their names arduously : 
Hence passed have striven immortal names indite. 
Upon the rougher rind of life's larger tree. 
Nature's truants grown I ween from when 
They first upon these limbs of lofty mien, 
Seated they then the only truely free 
Dreamed of the future's greatness ; 
That but afterward hemmed in their unrestraint lives. 
And robbed them of this, and childhood, their eldrados 
of deep purity. 

For here then was May, supreme with sudden bloom. 
Her wealth of blossoms lay like dead winter in her arms, 
With flowers thickly studded round her brow 
And vocal with notes of cheer she took the world at 

large, 
In sweet surprisal, changing all. 



A REVERIE UNDER THE ELM. 65 

The elm spread a mass of one rich, broad, expanse of 
green, 

Through which at times the limbs breeze lifted, the sun- 
shine gleamed, 

And showed a sky through rifts the tenderest of blue. 

The robin settled now the whole year's visitant 

Gladness of voice, and wing ; perched on the apple- 
tree's topmost bough 

Gurgled forth a one continued ecstasy of song : 

While out in the w^arm meadow, cattle stood laved in 
the noonday quiet of the pool ; 

Sheep basked, or moved along the wood's deep w^all of 
shade ; 

Bees hummed, and all the life and tide of Summer 
merged complete. 

'Twas in that time that I, free and at ease, 

Stretched midway amid the shadow of these boughs 

Focused all things unto the eyes wide scope. 

And dreamed them to the fullest at the heart. 

The house wherein were passed life's earliest, happiest 

days ; 
The spire glinting fitful through the realm of trees 
Hallowed with associations to rememberance dear : 
The peaceful village churchyard, hemming in 
Old hopes, old ties, and heart-aches in profoundest rest ; 
And half descried on yon hill's green mantled height. 
The school-house reared its modest academic walls, 
Seat of all knowledge, secured to childhood years. 



66 A REVERIE UNDER THE ELM. 

Eton which gave to me all that I have learned, or 

known ; 
Of the old world's grandeur, and the new world's lore. 

There are some, gather their pleasure from the society 

of books. 
And some, derive it in the city's crowded haunts ; 
Others, that seek it with the popular throng 
Of those who for a season brief do go abroad. 
With a short stay at Chalons, one at Rome, 
Among scenes deemed not common place, and trite, like 

ours. 
Making a round of the other beaten thorough-fares. 
Yearly taken by our one minded tourists, 
Visiting the domes and columns of ancient renown ; 
Musing o'er their past glory, and splendor. 
Mingling with the pomp, and fashion, still theirs; 
Getting a fill of the old world's legacy, 
Until at last sight weary, and worn, 
They wander back to home. 

Well each to their liking, I to mine, 

Find as ever a full surfeit amid this tree. 

Where the orioles aloof. Summer's harbingers of song. 

Are keeping a season's levee of delight with me : 

Flying ever, and anon, around their coveted nest 

Deeming (they wiser than men) home, dearer than 

foreign habitation. 
And patches of gleaming rushes that seem like myriad 

miniatu/'e seas. 



A REVERIE UNDER THE ELM, 67 

Whose tops of tremulous waves of green, roll inland 
with the breeze ; 

And deep lengthening shadows that move along the dis- 
tant hills, 

From an ever shifting panorama of white clouds; 

Or where dandelions, and buttercups, gild all the land- 
scape o'er; 

As nature's betrothed bands of gold, with which she weds 
the vernal year; 

Or, where in the west a glorious prospect lies, 

The deep crimson rays of sunset sky. 

For here in this dim recess of flecking shade 

(Nature's rich memorial cloister of childhood's reverent 

age,) 
There is a feeling, and a sense of awe ; 
Steals o'er the heart, and wakens in the mind, 
Not met with in the old worlds stoical pile; 
Her proud imperial walls, and mouldering corridors. 
The niche and nave of her Westminister's gloom, 
Guarding in deep recluse a Poet's Corner. 
Whose fac-smile is hereditary with this tree, 
But opened to light, air, and sunshine flooded free ; 
Thoughts of life's earliest time, and dreams that buried 

lie 
In the deep cavernous sepulchre — the past; 
Which memory hands us down from age to age, 
With as great and as immortal apostilage. 



68 



A WINTER'S DAY REVERIE. 

White as the wool of a lamb it lay, 
The snow o'er the earth that Winter's day; 
While the sky above in its blue shows clear, 
Like the eggs in the nest of a bird that year ; 
And the cattle, white images carved did seem. 
By the side of the rock and the sombre wood's screen ; 
And the crows, from the height of the bare elm tree. 
At noon came forth most clamorously, 
Like clouds o'er fields sailing of a bright Summer's day. 
So their dark trailing shadows soon faded away; 
One bird alone made Summer for all that year 
Of bleakness, sleet, frost and rime and universal white- 
ness of Winter's annual cheer ; 
And the deep, shallowed ice-rimmed woodland brook, 
Wore the same well-known old spring-time look; 
Of golden sand gleams, playing on its pebbly bed. 
With watercresses greenest tinge now bending over 

head; 
Reflected in its mirror the distant snow-capped larch lay 

still. 
Like the quiet that then brooded, o'er the valley, vaie 

and hill ; 
In the West, the round sun peering, from out its cloud- 
fringed fold, 
Illumined all the landscape, with its polished disk of 
gold; 



SEASON PROPHECIES. 69 

Then sank, leaving its mellow light, transfigured on the 

sky, 
Like memory, oft flings back a gleam of Summer's glory 

now long since gone by. 

1888. 



CHILDHOOD. 

Now shouting children joyfully 

Do sport upon the lea, 

Light hearted buccaneer, that throng 

Upon our thoughts the memory. 

When we, as they were free. 

And ours too their glee, 

So artless and as yet unused to wrong. 



SEASON PROPHECIES. 

Whether Winter, in her mantled guise. 
Doth of sterner odes and hues surmise 

Her natal right and destiny ; 

Or Summer, as her heirloom prize, 

In gayer scenes, and milder skies ; 

Yet both hath in sooth for wise learned eyes 

The clearness how to see aright, life's every prophecy. 



70 TO A DISCONSOLATE ONE. 



TO A DISCONSOLATE ONE. 

Mourner, cease thy weeping, 
O ! why dost thou shed tears, 

And in solitude keeping 
All these happy years? 

Come out of thy dreary abode, 

And like Nature meet us ; 
Shake off thy cheerless mood. 

And with gladnsss greet us. 

Look for a happier day 

In the distance far. 
Driving thy sorrow away 

And all that sweet life doth mar. 



Hope for that joy which to many, 

Has come, through that same tried way, 

Bringing healing and comfort to any. 

Who forsook not Heaven's love in that day. 

For the death of a dear one in common, 

Is a blessing sent oft in disguise; 
Transforming our hearts, cold, earthly and human, 

More saintly like theirs, ours now of Paradise. 



FREEDOM ECHOES. 71 



FREEDOM ECHOES. 

LINES. 

To the venerable David Banks, for the part he took in 
the Anti-Slavery movement through those memorial 
years. Mr. Banks has always been an out-spoken^ boldy 
anti-slavery man^ and his own house has often been 
opened for prayer and public meetings to discuss the 
slavery question, even when the church was barred 
against such meetings ; but time has wrought a wonder- 
ful change and such a change ! See History of Fairfield 
County. Biographical Sketch, 

Time tried Patriot of those heroic days, 

When liberty's first thought, stirred for her wronged 

brother ; 
When Church and State, both closed their tribunal ears ; 
Like Robespierre* and his clan against the voice of 

truth ; 
Veiling their votary sins beneath a niolech goddess of 

reason, 

* Francois Maximilian Joseph Isidore de Robespierre, this 
tyrannical destroyer and dictator of the Reign of Terror was 
born at Arras, France, in the year 1758 and was executed July 
28th, 1794, and his associates with him. 



72 FREEDOM ECHOES. 

Petitioning myriad innocences unto an atrocious 

death ; 
And stifling the faintest murmurings of freedom in cold 

blood ; 
Yet she oozed forth as freedom ever will ; 
Her surges rolled on from soul to soul, 
Until, in one multitudinous flood, she overwhelmed the 

tyrants of her birth. 
So thou one of those souls merged in a latter age, 
Again didst see her shackled in the street, 
Upon the homestead and in the market place ; 
A pilloried effigy of mockery and shame, 
Degraded to the lowest depth within the human 

heart. 
Yet she e'er found in thee a sturdy advocate of her 

right — : 
A hermitage thy home in her great hour of trial, 
'Till now grown venerable in years, thou seest hei 

triumphant, 
In the full supremacy of a long questioned reign. 

Stanwich, Conn., April 2d, 1888. 



LINES. 



73 



LINES. 

(To the spirit of Israel Putnam.) 

Written at the dedication of the inomiment, erected to his 
meffiory^ in Brooklyn, Conn., 1888. 

Soul of patriotism, tried and true ; 
Type of New England's hardihood : 
Now Freedom's war-clouds rifted through, 
Show, that of all her devoted sons, one hardly could 
Have given her history a more illustrious page, 
Than thou, sturdy son, fitly created for her persecuted 
age. 

When she first uttered forth her urgent call 
For succor, in her needed hour of might, 
Thou wast the first, among them all 
That girded on her armor right ; 
And in her name, heroically 
Fought for her home-loved liberty. 

The plow, left deep furrowed in the field. 
What were its gain unto a country's need ; 
Rich harvest of the sickle yield, 
This be her cowering yeoman's meed 
But not thine, whose arm and sinews strong, 
Could battle for her oppressed throng. 



74 LINES. 

Reared amid adversity's rough school 

Of hardship and incessant toil ; 

Thou grew steeled to self reliance, 'neath her rule. 

Rich heirloom, common to the sons of Ceres soil ; 

That formed in thee that times much needed purposed 

mind, 
Born to command the noblest cause intrusted to mankind. 

In home-spun garments thou wert seen, 

A warrior of the true born stuff ; 

And though Britian's epauletted sons did deem, 

To rail en thee their wonted scoff ; 

Yet beneath that humble garb, did rightly scan 

The conquering, iron will-power of the man: 

And offered thee a bribe of statelier pomps and dress, 

A life of ease and flattery's applause; 

As though a true son of hers, would sell his birthright 

for a pottage mess. 
And prove him traitorous to his nation's noblest cause ; 
Forever bane his name upon her annualed page. 
Cursed heritage bequeath to each succeeding age. 

No, 'twas better to live in penury for her sake, 
And share the humblest food her board did ere supply ; 
With her free struggling commoness to take, 
As heaven's benediction all these years of war riven sky; 
Then live in splendor, subject to such a tyrant clause, 
Freedom's name forever blotted out as one of God's first 
eternal laws. 



THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. 75 

Through all those stormy days and trying years, 

When other men's hearts quailed their first belief; 

Thine was secure from doubts and fears, 

Knowing that God was with them for relief. 

Thus sacrificed a whole life's service to duty's stern 

request, 
Enjoying at last the privilege of liberty's blessedness. 

Thou hardy tiller of thy country's soil, 

And soldier most valiant in her van ; 

Statesman, too, whose weighty counsel ne'er did soil 

One partial spot of her onward plot or plan; 

But in all thy power helped further on her fireside trust, 

To-day a nation rightly pays the well-merited tribute 

o'er thy crownless dust. 
1888. 



THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. 

1775. 

War's first tocsin sounded loud and clear, 
Where Concord's volleyed smoke rolled on ; 

And patriots hastening without fear, 
Met battle's fierce alarm. 

There came the rustic and the gent, 

From o'er the hill and wave ; 
Came they with that one intent, 

Their homes from foes to save. 



76 THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. 

And left behind their weeping wives, 

Mothers beloved, sisters adored ; 
For freedom's cause laid down their lives, 

Nor turned where love implored. 

And homes where love and peace were found, 
When day's wearying toil was o'er ; 

And glowing firesides, where mirth abound 
Loudest from nurseling play, upon the floor. 

Most sacred to their hearts were these, 
Bound beneath the oppressors power ; 

They cried to God for their release, 
And prayed his strength that hour. 

They saw the fire licked smouldering town. 

The invaders faces round their hearth-stone 
glow; 
Insult, and mockery piled down. 

Upon their defenceless heads, like winter's sifted 
snow. 

Enough — the scoff the tyrant gave, 

They cowered long beneath their might ; 

Till conscience spake it made them brave, 
'Twas death or freedom's right. 

All patriotic hearts beat as one brave, 

All patriots thought one freedom's cause; 

With musket volleyed cannonade to wake 
Vengence on their tyrant's force. 



LINES FOR A NATION. 



77 



The echo of arms were heard anon, 

The hills and valleys o'er ; 
With dying groans from old and young, 

Drenched 'neath the bloody gore. 

*Twas Liberty's command, it urged them on, 
" Go, and redress an old time wrong." 

What cared they now for battle's harm. 
What for their tyrant's scorn. 

Best honors to the battle slain, 

Whose life-blood mingled with the earth ; 
Where memory hallows aye their fame 

That to a nation, gave the first of freedom's 
birth. 



r< 



LINES FOR A NATION. 

On hearing a heated discussion against the colored race, 

Negroes, a long despised race — 
Would it were otherwise. Ah, me ! 

When will this blot e'er be effaced 
From prejudice — which shamefully 

A nation's meekness long has faced ; 

Though clowns and scoffers take the part, 

To further on the down-trodden, I'll 

Yet engraven, universal on the human heart. 
Is liberty's inscription of equality — sovereign will. 



78 LINES. 



LINES. 

Written on. seeing this inscription on a board nailed to the 
trunk of a tree, standing in the village of Ridge field, Conn., 
October ^th, 1888. 

" INSCRIPTION." 

In this field lie the remains of fifteen patriots who were killed 
at the battle at Ridgefield, April 27th, 1777. 

Strange freaks doth freedom in her emolument use, 

To reward her dead hero sons ; 
Whose life-blood as a sacrifice to her shrine, 

They so willingly laid down. 
To some, she rears the mosaic shaft, 

To moulder in pageant regions far away ; 
To some, the sculptured stone, where on 

Her elegiac grandeur, untimely doth decay : 
While to others, she gives the storied urn, 

Fit recipient of heroic dust ; 
The coveted niche and mausoleum, whereby 

Do end in glory, life's short allotted span : 
Yet these she laid within the very heart. 
Of this, their once hard fought for prosperity 

Unmarked, but by the humblest slab, 
Recorder of their worth. 

Oft the richest eulogy, whereby she doth bequeath 
To men, an immortal fame. 

1888. 



TO A BANQUETED FEDEKAL SOLDIER. 79 

TO A BANQUETED FEDERAL SOLDIER. 

A. W, 

Hail ! Glory crowns thy youthful brow, 
And bids thee to the fair ones now ; 

Sweet their praise and honor will be, 
Sweet the song they will sing to thee. 

Of the joy when war has ceased, 

And the hearts contented peace ; 
When the laureled one doth come. 

Welcomed to his kindred home. 

Of the polished musket's gleam, 

And the bright sword's edge so keen ; 

Bound the battle flag among, 
Relics dear of freedom won. 

Of the loved ones quickened pace, 

Clasped to him in fond embrace ; 
Ones that sorrowed now made gay, 

War its horrors passed away. 

Of the great deeds he has done. 

And the victories that were won ; 
Bright the light that fills his eye, . 

As he dreams " The Battle Bye:* 



80 TO A BANQUETED FEDERAL SOLDIEE. 

Of the festal cup and wreath, 

Joy his fame, their country's peace; 
'Twas thy glory that was sung, 

VaLORED DEEDS AND VICTORY WON. 



THE END. 



Note. — Colequam Lake, (recently changed to Putnam 
Lake) situated about four miles from the village of 
Greenwich, Conn., is surrounded by very romantic 
scenery, and is a favorite resort with the wealthy of the 
neighboring towns, who visit it frequently during the 
Summer months. It is an artificial lake, or reservoir ; 
supplying the towns of Greenwich and Port Chester 
with fresh water. 



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